


hammer & pick (your little piece of the moon)

by achilleus



Series: leopard prints and jukebox tunes [1]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: 5+1 Things, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Self-Indulgent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29785560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achilleus/pseuds/achilleus
Summary: If Pete wanted a cup of coffee, Mikey would pull on his sweatpants and yank on his sneakers, and run all the way down to the Starbucks down their street, wait in line for however long it takes the queue to move forward, order and pay for Pete’s usual sugary concoctions that really shouldn’t legally be allowed to call itself coffee, and then run back to their apartment, just so Pete can gulp down the overly-sweet mess and become even more hyperactive.If Pete wanted a little piece of the moon, Mikey would enroll himself back into school, slave away in university to meet the credentials necessary to become an astronaut, work to gain the skills and requirements listed out on NASA’s website, and then launch himself out into space with a hammer and a pick in order to get Pete his little piece of the moon.If Pete wanted the stars, Mikey would figure out a way to capture starlight into mason jars. And if that failed, then Mikey would do his best to figure out how to bring to life Neil Gaiman’s Stardust.OR: 5 times Pete asked Mikey for something, and 1 time Mikey asked Pete.
Relationships: Mikey Way/Pete Wentz
Series: leopard prints and jukebox tunes [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2189349
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	hammer & pick (your little piece of the moon)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a reupload of one of my old(er) Bandom fics. It's part of a series; I'll slowly reupload all the works onto AO3. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

i.

A low, muffled thump echoes in Mikey’s dozing mind, causing him to wake just enough to feel the warm, comfy blanket wrapped around him and smell the familiar, soothing aroma of coffee wafting from the kitchen. He waits, teetering on the edge of unconsciousness for another thump. Not hearing any after a moment, he mumbles incoherently to himself and drifts easily back to sleep. However, the next clattering noise is a little harder to ignore, and Mikey reluctantly opens his eyes, blearily squinting against the muted sunlight filtering in from their half-covered windows. The clanging noises slowly increase in volume, leaving Mikey with no choice but to sit up against the headboard and stretch languidly. Pete’s side of the bed is undeniably cool to the touch, letting Mikey know that the older man had probably been up for a good while now, and causing him to absentmindedly wonder at what Pete could be doing to cause so much noise. Mikey yawns, and debates going back to sleep or getting up and making sure his lover is alright. He was just deciding on the latter, feet ready to brave the cold, hardwood floor, when—

“Good morning, Mikeyway!” 

Pete bustles into their bedroom, holding a tray with a full breakfast spread in his hands. The splotches of what looks to be batter decorating the bridge of Pete’s nose and the round flesh of his cheeks can’t distract from the bright and beaming smile on his face, and Mikey smiles gently in response, feeling more content than he thought could ever be possible at the sight of his lover in the early hours of the morning. 

“Mmm, morning,” Mikey rumbles, and Pete carefully deposits the tray onto their bedside table before scampering into their warm bed, sliding between the sheets and the blanket, and pressing the full length of his body against Mikey’s. 

“Kiss me?” Pete asks.

“Morning breath,” Mikey complains half-heartedly even as he’s already leaning down and pressing a chaste, affectionate kiss against the older man’s lips. 

Mikey can’t deny Pete anything; all Pete has to do is ask in his usual, inquisitive voice, and – if it’s physically possible – Mikey would see it done. If Pete wanted a cup of coffee, Mikey would pull on his sweatpants and yank on his sneakers, and run all the way down to the Starbucks down their street, wait in line for however long it takes the queue to move forward, order and pay for Pete’s usual sugary concoctions that really shouldn’t legally be allowed to call itself coffee, and then run back to their apartment, just so Pete can gulp down the overly-sweet mess and become even more hyperactive. 

If Pete wanted a little piece of the moon, Mikey would enroll himself back into school, slave away in university to meet the credentials necessary to become an astronaut, work to gain the skills and requirements listed out on NASA’s website, and then launch himself out into space with a hammer and a pick in order to get Pete his little piece of the moon. 

If Pete wanted the stars, Mikey would figure out a way to capture starlight into mason jars. And if that failed, then Mikey would do his best to figure out how to bring to life Neil Gaiman’s Stardust. 

If a kiss is all it’ll take to make Pete smile with pure joy, well – Mikey is more than happy to pepper his lover with affectionate kisses for the rest of his life.

“Mmm, you’re right,” Pete says afterwards, nose wrinkling and eyes curving in gentle amusement as he softly pulls away from the kiss. “It’s a little stinky.”

“Told you,” Mikey says, pressing one last ardent kiss to Pete’s jaw before moving away completely in order to reach over and grab the breakfast tray. 

“Careful,” Pete pipes up beside him, and Mikey can’t even feel offended considering he just broke one of their kitchen chairs yesterday. 

“Don’t worry,” Mikey places the tray on his lap, making sure everything is balanced and safe from tipping over before continuing. “I would never spill anything you cook for me, baby.”

“You dropped some of the homemade calzones I made for you last week, Mikeyway.”

“I still ate them and they were delicious! Even with little bits of dust and lint stuck to them.” Mikey says defensively, a smile blossoming on his face in response to the devious grin Pete is sporting. The older man giggles in response, wrapping his arms around Mikey’s neck and leaning close to press a kiss against his temple in an affectionate demonstration that all is forgiven. 

“I’m just glad you didn’t get a stomach-ache,” Pete murmurs against Mikey’s cheek. “Our floor is pretty fucking dirty.”

“Not that dirty.”

“It’s pretty dirty, dude.”

“A little dirty.”

“Dirtier than most kitchens.”

“Oh? Have you been to a lot of kitchens?” Mikey asks in a deliberately imperious tone. 

Pete lightly pinches the soft flesh of his underarm with a playful pout, causing Mikey to cough on a snort and try to wiggle away. 

“Your breakfast, which – by the way – I woke up extra early to make for you, is getting cold and soggy.” Pete turns away from Mikey and reaches for the platters. Handing Mikey his mug of black coffee, Pete begins to cut up the waffles and sausages. Taking a sip of the blessed caffeine, Mikey places his cup back onto their bedside table before wrapping his arms around Pete’s waist, hooking his chin on his shoulder. 

“Can I help you?” Pete asks, before reaching over and stuffing a helping of slightly-charred hash brown into Mikey’s mouth, effectively stopping Mikey from replying to his question. “Does it taste good?”

“Delicious,” Mikey answers with a mouth that’s half-full. Leaning forward, he plucks a grape off the plate and pops it into his mouth. “This isn’t all for me, is it?”

“I don’t know. Do you think you’ll have enough if we share?”

“Considering it looks like you cooked all of this with an entire soccer team in mind, I think we’ll manage,” Mikey says with a playfully crooked grin. The bark of laughter that escapes from Pete is expected but no less treasured, and Mikey is content to just sit back and watch the happiness play out across Pete’s scrunched-up features. 

“Fucker,” Pete says good-naturedly after his giggling subsides. 

“You are what you eat—no wait, that doesn’t work. Or well, I mean it kind of does,” Mikey says. Pete giggles and stuffs a cut-up piece of waffle into Mikey’s mouth. Mikey swipes a piece of greasy bacon off the plate with his fingers and forces it past Pete’s giggly, upturned lips in retaliation. 

They do that for a while, feeding each other with looks that are equal amounts teasing and affectionate, and tossing out lighthearted barbs that contain more fondness than any real poison. The food slowly diminishes and then they’re settling against the pillows and headboard, passing a cup of now-lukewarm coffee (Pete complains at the bitter taste with every sip, but he still keeps on sipping) back and forth with lingering fingers. 

“Can we stay in today?” Pete asks, warm and safe under Mikey’s heavy arm. “Let’s just stay in bed all day. I want to be lazy today; let’s have a lazy day.” 

“Okay,” Mikey answers simply in between the last sip of coffee. He places the cup to the side before scooting forwards with Pete still in his arms, fluffing the pillows out, and lying back down. Resting his cheek against the top of Pete’s soft yet scratchy hair, Mikey closes his eyes and just focuses on holding the other. 

“Really?” Pete asks, sounding hopeful, and Mikey can feel Pete’s fingers tracing nonsensical patterns on his back.

“Mmhmm. We’ll just cuddle and talk and fuck all day long. It’ll be nice. We can even order takeout later if we’re feeling too lazy to cook.”

There’s a pause where Mikey can feel Pete’s eyes peering carefully at his face. He keeps his eyes closed, remaining loose and languid to show the older man that he’s completely serious in his proposition; if Pete wants to laze around in bed all day, well then, Mikey is only too happy to comply. Besides, he wasn’t lying when he said it’d be nice – being given the chance to cradle Pete even for a moment already feels like a miraculous gift; being able to hold Pete for the whole day (being asked by Pete to do so) is something Mikey will never take for granted.

“Thanks, Mikeyway,” Pete finally says. His voice is tender and the kiss he places on Mikey’s stubbly chin is grateful. Mikey only tightens his hold.

“There’s nothing you need to thank me for, Pete.”

“Yes, there is,” is Pete’s simple reply. Opening his eyes, Mikey can see how earnest the other’s expression is. The moment their eyes meet, Pete’s face softens into something that feels like home. “Kiss me, Mikeyway?” Pete asks.

“Spicing things up: morning breath with a hint of coffee this time,” Mikey offers his usual half-hearted, token resistance. His lips find Pete’s soon after though, and – protectively cupping the back of Pete’s head with one large hand as they exchange soft kisses – Mikey settles down for a nice day-in with the love of his life.

ii.

Pete asks for a lot of things. He’ll wheedle day in and day out for more snacks; he’ll beg Mikey shamelessly to sit through a horrendous amount of rom-com movies with him; he’ll whine until he’s blue in the face for cuddles and kisses and covert blowjobs (be it receiving or giving); he’ll demand foot massages and back rubs from dusk till dawn; and he’ll plead and bat his eyes until Mikey gives in and drives him to wherever and whatever function it was that he said he just has to go to. 

He’s always really loud and really persistent with it too.

Pete’s persistent loudness might actually be why Mikey is so inclined to give Pete anything his heart may desire; their pantry is always stock-full of Pete’s favourite jelly candies and chocolate chip cookies and spicy Jalapeño-flavoured chips, and – at this point – Mikey can more or less quote good chunks of the dialogue from some of Pete’s favourite rom-com classics (just test him: Mikey can probably play Jane, Kevin, Tess, George, and Casey from 21 Dresses by now). 

Of course, the fact that he’s crazy in love with Pete also probably contributes to it…but, whatever. 

All these things lead back to this: when Pete enters their apartment with a conflicted expression on his face and a surprisingly morose air surrounding him, Mikey is immediately a bit wary – a silent Pete is never truly a good thing – and ready to place down his wok and gather Pete into his arms until whatever is bothering him goes away and he’s happy again. Or beat whatever is making Pete frown like that straight to the ground until he achieves the same success. Whichever is more effective; Mikey isn’t that picky. 

Mikey doesn’t do any of that though, because before he can so much as place his spatula onto the counter, Pete is already wrapping himself around Mikey’s back. 

“Hey,” he mutters sullenly into Mikey’s neck, and Mikey frowns, lowering the heat so that his semi-acceptable-looking stir-fry remains safely heated without burning. Turning around, Mikey cups Pete’s cheeks and tilts his head upwards, drawing his lover into a long and lingering kiss. 

“Hey yourself,” he whispers once their lips part. Leaning further back, Mikey runs his hand through Pete’s dark hair. The older man nuzzles into his palm with a slightly dazed look on his face, and Mikey can’t help the small smile that blossoms on his face at the sweet sight. 

“How was your day?”

Pete just gives a vague shrug in response, and the previous smile slips away from Mikey’s face. Thumb brushing tenderly along the curved roundness of Pete’s cheek, Mikey asks: “Do you want to talk about it?”

Pete looks down and fiddles with the straps of Mikey’s Romaine Calm and Carrot On apron. He’s gnawing on his bottom lip in a familiar gesture of nervousness, and while Mikey wants to gently reprimand Pete from doing so (his lips get so chapped, sometimes even bloody, and the way Pete winces whenever it happens is enough to get Mikey to dislike this one habit with a passion), he refrains. Instead, he waits patiently for Pete to figure out if this is something he wants Mikey to know. Fingers massaging the back of Pete’s neck, Mikey simply stands, content with where he is and who he’s with.

After a moment, Pete – with his eyes still carefully diverted away from Mikey’s patient face – asks: “What do you think about children?”

Mikey pauses. “Ah. Children?”

“Like, little, adorable fur-ball children.”

The tension immediately leaves Mikey’s body at the innocuous question that Pete poses. 

“Oh,” he breathes out, and Pete looks up with furrowed eyebrows and confused, dark eyes. “Is that all?”

“What do you mean?” A pout is beginning to form on Pete’s lips, and Mikey sighs, his fingers rubbing at Pete’s cheek and dancing along the graceful column of his neck.

“I thought you were gonna give me some really bad news, baby.”

“Bad news?” Pete parrots back, and the befuddled look on his face only grows. “Like what?”

“Like you need me to help you bury multiple bodies, or you’re in some deep shit with the Mafia and the only way out of it is to sell your body to appease them. I dunno.”

Pete scoffs right in his face. “Like you or Patrick would ever let me fall into bed with the Mafia. The two of you are killjoys; you know that, Mikeyway?”

“Well you walked in here looking like someone just stole your wallet, spat in your face, and then keyed up your car, so sorry for jumping to conclusions,” Mikey says with an eye-roll. Pete ends cackling lightly though, so the younger man takes it as a win and draws his lover closer again, arms curling around the slender waist and cheek resting against the top of the other’s head. 

“So what’s this about little, fur-ball children?” 

There’s another moment of silence, but Mikey can feel Pete slowly snaking his arms around his waist and waits patiently. Finally, Pete hesitantly asks: “How would you feel if I said I wanted to adopt a dog?”

“Hmm,” Mikey pretends to think for a second (even though he already knew the answer the moment Pete even implied the question). “Well, I wouldn’t be opposed. I would ask you why the sudden urge to adopt one though.”

Pete’s eyes peek out from where they had been pressed into the crevice of Mikey’s neck and shoulder; the expression on his face is hopeful. 

“You really wouldn’t mind?” He asks, and Mikey doesn’t bother resisting the urge to kiss his lover. Pete positively melts in his arms, and his pliant body – so trusting that Mikey would hold him up, would protect him – causes Mikey to groan deeply against the soft parting of his lips. 

Finally pulling away from the kiss, Mikey says honestly: “Baby, if it would make you happy, I’d be willing to consider adopting a baby llama with you.” 

Pete’s nose wrinkles in disgust. “I don’t like llamas. Something about them just makes me feel…unsafe.” 

Mikey chuckles. “Okay, well I’d also be willing to discuss adopting a shark with you, if that’s what you really wanted.”

“Really? But you’re afraid of sharks.”

“Yeah, because they’re terrifying and they have beady, little black eyes that stare straight into your soul. But I love you,” Mikey stresses quietly, and Pete laughs – loud, and honking, and so, so beautiful – before letting his hands drift from around Mikey’s waist, up his back, over his shoulders, and finally looping them around his neck. His eyes are curved up in glee, and the previous tension has completely dissipated from his face. He looks gorgeous under the ugly fluorescent lights of their kitchen, and Mikey never wants to be parted from him.

“I love you, Mikeyway,” Pete whispers, his eyes soft and his cheeks pink.

“And I love you, Pete Wentz,” Mikey whispers back. Pete beams up at him, leaning in to press tender kisses all over his face and neck. Mikey hums in quiet appreciation before asking, “Seriously though. Why the sudden urge to adopt a dog?”

“Andy brought me to a dog café during my break today,” Pete answers, never letting up on his gentle kisses. “There were a bunch of dogs there that were up for adoption. I…I fell in love with this one pug; his name is Hemingway and he’s the sweetest, most slobbery dog ever. Can we go back to the café sometime soon so you can meet him? I really want you to like him and I want him to like you too. Can we, can we please, please, please?”

Holding Pete’s face in his hands, Mikey presses a kiss against his forehead.

Leaning back, he catches Pete’s earnest eyes and smiles softly.

“Are they still gonna be open after dinner?”

Mikey will never get tired of seeing happiness on Pete’s face.

“I think so, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Mikey promises. 

Pete’s smile is soft and grateful, and his kisses make Mikey feel at home.

iii.

They’re quiet on the way to the airport. The silence isn’t cold though, just a little bit sad and a tiny bit melancholic. Their hands are clasped over the car shift while Pete drives, and Mikey’s eyes keep meeting his lover’s beneath the passing streetlights as David Bowie croons softly about electric eyes and ray guns in the background; the smile Pete shoots him every time their gazes connect is wistful but no less affectionate than it was the day before. 

Their hands remain clasped together when they exit the car, and their fingers stay intertwined as they get Mikey’s luggage checked in. With every passing second though, Pete seems to shrink further and further into himself, and Mikey’s regret in agreeing to go to Scotland for three months for work intensifies. 

“Pete,” he calls softly, ten minutes before having to go through the gates and leave his lover behind. Pete looks up, wide-brown eyes soft and sad and Mikey leans in to kiss his forehead. When he pulls back, Pete bounces on the balls of his feet and gently nips at Mikey’s chin with teasing lips and semi-playful teeth. 

“Mmm,” Mikey hums before breaking into small chuckles. Pete wraps his arms around Mikey’s waist and lets the younger man draw him into a tight hug. “I’ll miss you biting me,” Mikey gently teases, whispering against the top of Pete’s head. Soft tufts of black hair ruffle with his words, and Mikey breathes in the familiar scent of grapefruit and peppermint tea-leaves. 

“I’ll bite the crap out of you the moment you return,” Pete promises in a semi-wobbly voice. Mikey feels his stomach give way at the very idea of his lover lonely and missing him, and he runs his hands up and down Pete’s back in an attempt to soothe him. 

“You better tear off a piece of flesh,” is all he says. Pete laughs lightly and peers up at him with murky brown eyes.

“Work hard and take good care of yourself, okay?” The older man implores. “Make sure to dress warmly; I hear that Aberdeen can get pretty cold. Call…call me whenever you want to. And take lots of nice pictures for me, alright?”

“I will,” Mikey promises. “But you have to make sure to take good care of yourself too, okay? I don’t want to hear about you skipping meals and only eating gummi-bears for dinner from Gee. You better sleep properly as well. Patrick always knows when you start fucking around with your meds and when you pull all-nighters; don’t think I won’t enlist him to keep tabs on you.”

“As if he doesn’t already keep tabs on me in order to appease his own wicked, wicked thoughts,” Pete laughs lightly and fondly at the thought of his best friend. His fingers absentmindedly play with the lapels of Mikey’s black peacoat before he glances up at Mikey through his lashes.

“Kiss me?” He asks.

“Try and stop me,” is all Mikey murmurs back, before leaning in and fulfilling Pete’s request.

“I’ll miss you,” Mikey whispers against Pete’s lips, and Pete only lets his arms loop around Mikey’s thin shoulders more tightly. “I’ll think about you every day, Pete Wentz.”

“And I’ll count down the days until you come back to me, Mikeyway,” Pete replies, equally soft and earnest in his proclamation. His lips brush against Mikey’s, and – from up close – the younger man can see the splattering constellations of freckles and sunspots dancing on Pete’s cheeks and forehead. 

Mikey’s the one to let go first. His hands slowly drift off of Pete’s waist, fingers lingering – wanting to stay close to the other – before he finally manages to extract himself from Pete’s warm and clingy hold. The moment he steps back, he begins to miss Pete with a quiet sorrow. He pastes a quiet and crooked smile on his face though – weak and uncertain though it may be – in an attempt to comfort the older man. 

Letting the back of his hand brush against Pete’s, Mikey gently says, “I love you, baby. I’ll text you and video-chat you as much as I can. You’ll talk to me so much you won’t even be able to miss me, yeah?”

Pete’s lips twist up into a wan smile, and he nods. “Yeah, okay.” After a hesitant pause, he adds: “Can you do something for me, Mikeyway?”

“Anything,” Mikey replies, instantaneous and honest, holding up his heart for Pete to keep.

“Every day while you’re in Scotland…can you please pick up a pebble for me?”

Mikey blinks in confusion, but a determined expression is beginning to make itself known on Pete’s rounded face, and Mikey only asks, “A pebble?”

Nodding determinedly, Pete says, “One for every day.”

“Why?” Mikey asks. “I mean, I’ll do it. But I’m just curious.”

“It’s so you’ll think of me,” Pete confesses. His eyes flicker back down to Mikey’s chest area, and the younger man grasps his lover by the chin, tilting his face up so their gazes can meet. Pete smiles, wide and lop-sided, and Mikey gently strokes back-and-forth against the stubbly point of his chin. “Every time you pick up a pebble, you’ll think of me. Just like how I’ll be thinking of you.”

“Pete,” Mikey says. Pete’s innocent request sends a pang through Mikey, and he’s reminded once again of why he loves the other. Sometimes the breadth of how much he likes and adores Pete terrifies him, but moments like this – when Pete is comprised of soft lines and even softer wishes – make all the potential heartbreak and sadness worth it. A single moment lost with Pete is worth any obstacle that may come forth. He reaches out and cups Pete’s cheek with one hand. Pete leans in, nuzzling against his warm palm, and Mikey aches with love for the other man. 

“I love you. When I come back, I’ll have ninety-four pebbles ready for you.”

“I hope Scotland has that many pebbles to give,” Pete says.

Mikey chuckles. “I’ll chip away at their sidewalks if I have to.”

The barking laugh that bubbles out of Pete and the bright smile he offers Mikey this time is real, and its bright beauty helps to alleviate the coldness that creeps up over Mikey’s fingers when he finally lets go. 

(The first pebble Mikey picks up for Pete is smooth, round, and cool to the touch. It’s nestled between other stones that are bigger and louder and brighter, but somehow it stands out in its lovely simplicity. Pocketing the tiny stone, Mikey stands up and breathes in the crisp Aberdeen air with a quiet look of contentment on his face.)

iv.

It’s the way Pete’s eyes take on a suspicious sheen that drains the fight out of Mikey. Anger still simmers just beneath his skin though, and the taller of the two breathes in deeply through the nose in an attempt to stave off his irritated displeasure. 

Turning away from Pete’s flushed face, Mikey stomps towards their foyer and pulls on his shoes. His fingers just manage to swipe up his zombie-themed wallet and chiming keys from the side table when Pete’s plaintive voice pipes up from behind him.

“Mikey…”

The quiet fearfulness lacing the elder’s soft voice begs Mikey to please turn around, to sweep Pete into his arms, to comfort him, and to chase away the heavy and oppressive thoughts that are no doubt running wild in his mind. However, Mikey pushes away these impulses, knowing well that he’s still too worked-up. He needs some time to recollect his thoughts and to center himself again; the last thing he wants to do is to snap at Pete and hurt him any more. Mikey never wants to hurt his lover, not if he can help it. Pete is meant to be safe and happy, and if that means taking Mikey out of the equation (even if it’s just for a little while), then Mikey would willingly break his own heart, step through those doors, and walk away from Pete. 

“I need some space,” he says gruffly with his back still turned to the older man.

“Are you…are you going to come back?” 

“Yeah.”

“Promise me you’ll come back?” The usual confidence that often laces Pete’s requests is absent this time. Instead, his soft plea is heavy and hesitant, and Mikey doesn’t need to look back to know that Pete’s terrified of letting him walk out that door.

He doesn’t need to be though. Mikey would only ever walk away for good if – if Pete no longer wanted him. 

“I promise,” Mikey swears solemnly. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Be safe,” Pete whispers, and Mikey lets the door close quietly behind him.

It’s a bit past eleven when Mikey slips back into their dark and quiet apartment. Fumbling blindly for a moment, Mikey’s hands manage to knock into the light switch, and the foyer and adjacent living room are quickly illuminated. 

In the new brightness, Mikey can see Pete sprawled out on the couch with Hemingway lying comfortably on his stomach. Softly approaching the slumbering man, Mikey notes the way Pete’s face – though dry and scrubbed clean – shows evidence of previous tears shed. His cheeks are still blotchy and suspiciously ruddier than usual, and the areas around his eyes are puffy and tender-looking. 

Heart aching and guilt slowly rearing its ugly head, Mikey perches himself on the very edge of their worn sofa and allows the back of his hand to brush gently across Pete’s stubbly cheek. 

Pete slowly stirs, mumbling incoherently and smacking his lips together. His eyelids begin fluttering lightly and – after a few more moments where Mikey simply continued stroking his cheek – soon, Pete’s round eyes peek open, squinting against the sharp, yellow lighting of their lamps. 

“Hi, baby,” Mikey murmurs. The previous trembling anger lacing his voice is gone, leaving behind only light streaks of regret and tired longing. Pete, evidently noticing the change in the younger man, reaches out and cups his hand over the one Mikey still has cradling Pete’s cheek. 

“You’re back,” he whispers, voice thick and hoarse with the light tendrils of sleep and – well, Mikey doesn’t even want to think about how the older man probably cried following his leave. 

“I promised that I would come back.”

“I know, and I believe in you. I just…” Shrugging haplessly, Pete peers up at Mikey with slightly red-rimmed eyes. His face looks brittle, and his voice tapers off into something heartbreakingly fragile when he confesses: “I was still scared though.”

“I wouldn’t just leave you like that, Pete.” Breathing in deeply, Mikey lets his other hand drift up to rest against the column of Pete’s neck. He can feel the other man’s deep and steady heartbeat, and the life that thrums under Pete’s skin grounds him. “Just because I’m mad, it doesn’t mean I stopped loving you.” When Pete’s eyes meet his again, Mikey continues: “It doesn’t mean I want to stop trying, to stop working on this.”

“I don’t want to stop trying either,” Pete replies. With his hands cradling Pete, Mikey can feel every twitch of the other’s muscles, every breath he takes in, all the sincerity he packs into his words. Pete feels real and present, and maybe this is just what Mikey needs after a long and arduous battle against his lover. Maybe he just needs to feel the other, and reassure himself there is still the constancy of love underneath the temporary hurt and desire to inflict pain. Maybe he just needs to know that Pete still loves him, just as much as he still knows that Pete is it for him. 

“I—” Trailing off, Pete squeezes Mikey’s hand hard. “I’m tired. Can we please…please just call it a truce for now? I don’t—let’s just duke it out tomorrow. Please? We can fight tomorrow, but right now…Right now, I just want you to take me to bed, Mikeyway.”

Mikey doesn’t say anything, but when he pulls Pete to his feet (after having apologetically dislodged Hemingway from his perch on the older man’s tummy), his hands are gentle and kind and lacking any desire to attack. He remains soft and placid as he leads Pete into their bedroom, tucking them in and curling his body protectively around the other. 

It’s only once they’re settled in that Mikey speaks up.

“Good night,” he says. “I love you, Pete.”

He can feel the lingering tension leave Pete’s body, and simply holds him closer.

(Daylight softens the terrifying blows exchanged during the night, and the first words to leave Mikey’s lips in the dewy morning is “I love you, Pete Wentz.” The smile that blossoms across Pete’s face chases away any lingering sadness and uncertainty, and the task of mending wounds and fixing the still gaping cuts caused by careless words and a powerful ability to hurt seems a lot less daunting when it’s Pete waiting on the other side, with an “I love you, Mikeyway” already shaping on his lips.)

v.

“What do you think you’re doing?” 

Looking up guiltily from where he had been going through a few documents, Mikey attempts to smile sheepishly at an exasperated-looking Pete. Attempts to because he ends up sneezing noisily before his lips can so much as twitch upwards. 

The groan Pete releases is perhaps a touch more dramatic than necessary, but he still marches forward with a tissue in hand to gently wipe at Mikey’s runny nose. 

“Jesus, Mikey. You should be in bed right now,” Pete chides lightly as he pats down his lover’s face. 

“Sorry, baby,” Mikey mumbles nasally. He sneakily attempts to shove off the documents to the side in the dubious hopes that Pete would forget about it, but the way the older man’s eyes narrow squashes his attempts. He sits there frowning instead with the incriminating evidence lying unsubtly beside him. 

“I told you to stop working, Mikeyway,” Pete says, and Mikey shrinks a bit under his lover’s disapproving gaze. “You need to rest if you ever want to get better.”

“I know, I know. But I just need to finish this one last bit, and then I’ll relax and go to bed.” When Pete remains standing there, totally and utterly unmoved, Mikey does his best to soften his eyes and wheedles a bit more. “Please, baby? Just another half an hour at most, and I’ll be done my work.”

The stretch of silence almost convinces Mike that Pete would relent, before such dreams as dashed with Pete’s stubborn: “No.”

“Pete.” Mikey knows his whining is made even worse by the nasal-quality of his voice, but he can’t bring himself to care about how childish he sounds at the moment. “I literally only need half an hour. After that I’ll be good, promise.”

“No,” Pete says. “You need to rest, now.”

“But—”

“If you don’t rest properly, you’re never going to get better. And the longer you remain sick, the longer I have to go without you kissing me and fucking me.”

Mikey ends up gaping (which is honestly kind of helpful because both his nostrils are totally blocked at this point) in shock at Pete’s blatant use of manipulation. Despite the innocuous look carefully crafted and painted onto Pete’s face, Mikey can see the triumph swimming in his lover’s eyes, and he knows that Pete knows that he’s got Mikey wrapped around his finger. 

“I miss kissing you, Mikeyway,” Pete says, smiling sickeningly-sweet. “Please go back to bed and rest. The sooner you rest, the sooner you’ll get better. And then, I can kiss you all I want, and you can bend me over any surface you want.” 

“This isn’t fair,” Mikey complains half-heartedly, even as he’s already getting up off the floor and shuffling back into their warm blankets and fluffy pillows. “You’re using my weaknesses against me. And when I’m sick too. You’re basically kicking me when I’m already down.”

“Yes, yes.” Tucking the blankets tightly around Mikey, Pete playfully bops the younger man’s nose (Mikey allows this with only a light scowl) before standing back up and sweeping up all of Mikey’s documents from off the floor.

“These are mine now,” Pete proclaims triumphantly. “You can have them back when you get better, okay?”

“Okay,” Mikey mutters petulantly.

Pete beams at him in response. “Sleep and get better. For me!”

“Fine,” Mikey sniffs before obediently closing his eyes. “But only because you demanded so nicely.”

He ends up drifting off quickly with the happy sound of Pete’s soft cackling echoing in his ears and lulling him into a warm slumber.

\+ i.

“Marry me.”

Pete’s tirade of the unfairness of playing Mario Party with Mikey immediately cuts off. He whips around to face Mikey with big, shocked eyes and a gaping mouth, and Mikey feels himself blanch in horror. 

Proposing while they were both sitting in their boxers and partially-smelly t-shirts and playing Super Mario Party on their new Nintendo Switch was not how Mikey planned on proposing. Mario was still shouting “Wha-hoo!” over the tinny sounds of the Mario theme on the screen, goddamnit.

“Wait!” He practically screams, and Pete’s eyes only widen further. “I take it back!”

“You mean you don’t want to marry me?” Pete’s lips transform from a huge ‘o’ shape into a mock-scowl, and Mikey is quick to shake his head, nerves practically fried as he reached rock bottom, and then proceeded to whip out a drill in the hopes of going even further down.

“No, I definitely want to marry you! But I had a plan and everything. I was going to take you out to the waterpark, and then bring you out to dinner at Thai Villa. And then we were gonna come back and watch The Princess Bride or whatever, and then I was gonna pop the question. And the ring. Shit, I’m not even holding the ring right now. Oh my god—I’m a mess.”

When Mikey’s frantic gaze lifts up to meet Pete’s though, the older man looks pleased and happy, with shining eyes and surprisingly flushed cheeks. 

“You have a ring?” Pete asks, voice wavering and awed disbelief colouring his tone.

“I…yeah. It’s…it’s in the bedside drawer.”

“Can I see it?”

Swallowing down a strange mixture of nervousness, excitement, and disappointment, Mikey puts down his console before walking into the bedroom. He gropes around in the drawer before emerging with a small, discreet-looking velvet box, and goes back to the living room, plopping down onto the floor – with his back leaning against the couch – beside Pete.

“T-this is it,” Mikey says before offering the closed box to the older man. Pete, however, is shaking his head, his bleached-blonde hair flopping around with the movement. 

“No, I—propose to me again.” 

“What? Now?” Mikey splutters. “Can’t I just hold off on proposing again until I’ve actually put my plan into motion?”

“No, I can’t wait that long to give you my answer,” Pete says firmly. In the end, it’s the hopefulness glowing in Pete’s eyes that convinces Mikey to throw out his romantic plans, and re-propose despite their slightly-smelly t-shirts, and Mario’s ecstatic Wha-hoo-ing echoing from their television.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz. The third,” Mikey starts, his voice trembling and heart so full it feels like it’s about to burst. “When I imagined proposing to you, I always pictured that we’d be…at least wearing pants, and I’d be so smooth and suave and romantic that every time you tell people how I proposed they’ll swoon. I’m—I’m not sure anyone would swoon now if you told them this. Actually, I’m pretty sure that Frank might actually vomit from laughing too hard. But. But I’m going to do it anyway. So here I go. Are you ready?”

Pete nods. His eyes are bright with tears and something else, and Mikey reaches out and intertwines their fingers together.

“I love you, Pete Wentz. I—I have so much I want to say, and I promise I was going to be more articulate than this, but I haven’t had the time to write down what I want to say or run it through with Gee, so…I’m sorry if this isn’t anything grand or mind-blowing or cheesy enough for you.”

Pete laughs tearfully. Reaching out, he cups Mikey’s cheek with one soft palm, and Mikey leans into the familiar touch.

“Don’t apologize,” Pete says. “I’ll love whatever you have to say. I promise.”

“Even if it’s garbage?” Mikey teases, voice trembling from the sheer emotion assaulting him right now.

“I love you, Mikeyway,” is all Pete says, so Mikey takes in a bracing breath before continuing.

“Pete Wentz, I want to propose to you by promising you something. I—I don’t ever want to promise you something that I can’t keep, but I can promise you that at this very moment, I love you. I love you. And while I can’t promise that I’ll love you forever, I can promise you that—that the person I am now will love the person you are now for as long as these two versions of us will exist. I know that we’ll both slowly change with time, and though it terrifies me, I can promise you that – if you give me the opportunity – I’ll do my best to change with you, and not against you. I know we’ll fight, and things won’t be perfect all the time. I’ll get angry at you and you’ll get angry at me, but I promise that I won’t let the stupid fights stick. I can promise that I’ll work hard with you to try to make this last. I love you, I love you so much, and I promise that I’ll try my best every day to make sure we have a fighting chance. So…Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, will you please marry me, and give me the opportunity to see these promises through?” 

Pete is definitely crying now, but it’s alright, because he’s also beaming. 

“I want that, I want that with you, Mikeyway,” Pete hiccups out before sticking out his trembling left hand towards Mikey. Despite his wet face, the smile he shoots Mikey is bright and beautiful. “Yes. I’ll marry you, Mikey Way.”

Laughing and crying just a little bit at the same time, Mikey takes out the simple, white gold band from its velvet box, and – cradling Pete’s hand tenderly in his own – he slips the ring onto Pete’s finger. 

Looking down at the twinkling piece of jewelry for a moment, Mikey and Pete look up at the same time. Their gazes meet, and they laugh, happy and in love and wiling to see that love through. 

“We can still watch The Princess Bride right now if you want,” Mikey manages to say between his laughter.

“Only if I get to play Westley,” Pete says, squeezing Mikey’s fingers with his own. 

“You know I love pretending to be Buttercup,” Mikey grins, crooked and so, so happy. 

“I love you, Mikeyway,” Pete says firmly, leaning over and pressing a kiss against Mikey’s jaw. 

“I love you, Pete Wentz,” Mikey says in return. 

And together, they watch The Princess Bride, mouthing along to the True Love Proclamations (along with the You Murdered My Father Speeches) as the rest of their lives together stretch out before them.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are always appreciated. Thank you so much for reading!! :)


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